


Pretext

by Anonymous



Series: Is this thing (an)on? [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Written for the prompt:Accidental sugar baby, for one or both of them.Originally prompted and postedhere





	Pretext

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Отговорка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19965973) by [SpiritHallows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritHallows/pseuds/SpiritHallows)



Tony doesn’t think much of it. He’ll see something and think, _hmm, the kid would like that._ A couple words to FRIDAY and a day or two later he’ll be fielding a call from a clearly overexcited, overstimulated Peter.

Downside is that by then he’s usually forgotten what the thing is. Like right now, for example.

“Mr. Stark I can’t - this is so cool!”

“Don’t mention it, kid.” Which he says only because he knows that Peter won’t listen anyway. “I know you’ve been working hard, you deserve it.”

“Uh, I have yeah. But like, I’m pretty sure no one _deserves_ early screening tickets.”

Ah, so that’s what it was this time. He’d made an off-hand comment to a business associate a while back, mentioned that he knew someone who would love to get into an early screening of the newest Star Wars flick. When the tickets had arrived in the mail a few days later, he’d forwarded them along to Peter without a second thought.

Four days later it’s a custom-made set of noise cancelling headphones. 

“Oh those,” Tony says, as soon as Peter’s paused long enough to take a breath. “The other day you mentioned having trouble studying at the apartment, heightened senses and all that. I thought they might help.”

“Um, yeah.”

Peter’s mood seems to take a nosedive at Tony’s explanation, at least from what he can tell over the phone. It occurs to him belatedly that Peter’s off-hand comment may have just been an excuse to spend more time at the lab.

“Of course, it’s nothing compared to the sound insulation you’d get here, so you’re obviously welcome to come by whenever, if you need some peace and quiet. The headphones are really just a stop-gap measure for study hall, stuff like that. Wait, is study hall still a thing?”

“It’s still a thing,” Peter assures him, his tone noticeably more upbeat now. “Anyway, Mr. Stark, I just wanted to call to say thank you. They’re awesome.”

The next time he sees Peter, the kid is hunched over a textbook with the headphones looped around his neck, and he’s chewing on his lip.

“Problem?”

“Wha - uh, no.” 

It probably says something unflattering about Tony that he feels a rush of prideful glee each time he realizes he can still sneak up on the kid. Although maybe he shouldn’t be proud - what exactly does it mean that Peter’s super-senses don’t register him as a threat? It’s either an insult to Tony’s combined tactical and offensive skills, or it signals some fairly deep level of implicit trust on Peter’s part. 

Tony prefers to believe it’s the latter.

Peter, meanwhile, is looking back and forth between a chapter somewhere in the middle of the textbook and one of the appendices at the very end.

“I think this question is wrong,” he says.

Tony pulls the book across the table towards himself and glances over it. He flips back to the appendix to look at the answer provided.

“Yep. Hey FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Contact Pearson for Mr. Parker, he’d like to lodge a complaint - ”

“Oh no, Mr. Stark, we don’t need to - ”

“I can do that,” Friday replies, ”however I should point out that the error has been corrected in the most recent edition of the text.”

Tony flips to the front of the book. 

“Belay that FRIDAY.” He turns back to Peter. “What the hell are you doing with a textbook from 2014?”

Peter shrugs. “I dunno, it’s what they gave us in school. Besides, it’s physics. It’s not like it changes all that much.”

“It kind of does if they made a bunch of mistakes the last time around.”

Long story short, Principal Morita is overjoyed to receive a donation of full class sets of the newest edition of physics, chemistry, and calculus textbooks. Some of the teachers are a little less thrilled, since their curriculum was already structured around the old ones. Tony doesn’t particularly care about that though.

Peter doesn’t bring it up right away, but he has to know it was Tony. The next time they’re both in the lab, Peter pulls out his brand new physics textbook to start on his homework, shooting Tony a pensive look.

“Mr. Stark, did you really - I mean, just because I asked you about a question that was mis-worded?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, those books are like two hundred dollars a piece! I only mentioned it because I wasn’t sure if I had the answer wrong.”

“Pete, take a breath. Look at the lab you’re in. Now look at me.”

Peter does. “Okay...?”

Tony rolls his eyes. He sets down the soldering iron and points to himself. 

“Billionaire, with a B? Donating a bunch of textbooks to a school is basically just a convenient tax write-off for me. Actually it’s not even that much of a tax write-off, to be honest. You guys need a new building or anything like that?”

“Um, no. Definitely not.”

“Well, if you think of anything.”

They work for a little while in silence. When Peter speaks up again, it’s a little hesitant. “The AP Bio books are from like, 2008.”

“I thought you already took Bio last year?”

“Well yeah, but. You said if I thought of anything.”

There’s something else going on here, but Tony can’t quite put a finger on what. It’s not like it’s anything bad. Peter probably just wants his friends in other classes to have new textbooks too.

“Done.”

The superhero bells and whistles are easy enough to explain away. He creates and upgrades gadgets for everyone on the team, after all; Peter is no different from anyone else on the team in that regard.

He doesn’t buy clothes for anyone else though.

It starts with a pair of sneakers, because the ratty old pair of New Balance sneakers the kid practically lives in are, simply put, a travesty. From there it’s easy enough to get Peter some pants that actually fit; tailored ones he doesn’t have to roll up at the hems.

Peter lifts his shirt so Tony can see how they fit around the waist, turning around in a circle.

“I already have plenty of pants, you know,” Peter says.

“I know. These are better.”

He probably shouldn’t, but he keeps buying Peter things, and without fail Peter will turn up the next day wearing whatever it was. The first real cold snap of the year leads to a new cashmere sweater in a deep maroon color. 

The color looks fantastic on him; the cut of it though, not so much. Tony plucks at the fabric, hands skimming Peter’s sides.

“Too baggy,” he concludes.

“It’s a sweater, it’s supposed to be baggy, isn’t it?”

“It’s Armani, it should fit like it was made for you. Wearing it any other way is like slathering ketchup on a plate of fresh oysters.”

Peter pulls a face, but it’s not one of disgust, more like bemusement. It occurs to Tony that Peter’s probably never had oysters before. Whatever. He can rectify that at some point.

The point is no one should look frumpy wearing a sweater that costs - well, to be honest he doesn’t actually know how much the sweater was. And he can’t ask FRIDAY about it in front of Peter, otherwise the kid’s bound to hop back on the Mr.-Stark-no-really-it’s-too-much merry go round.

He orders Peter several more sweaters, along with a few sweatshirts that he sends along with a note:

_These can be baggy. (But they should still fit you.)_

Peter walks in the next day wearing one of the hoodies. He drops his backpack next to the lab table and spreads his arms for Tony to see. The sweatshirt is heather-gray, a fairly simple design. He looks good in it.

“Better?”

Tony grins back at him. “Better.”

“You’re insane, you know that right?”

Tony doesn’t bothering justifying that with a response. He reaches over, tucks in the tag at the back of Peter’s neck, pretends not to notice the way Peter stills at the touch. 

“Um, May wanted me to say thank you. Again. For the car.”

Tony crooks an eyebrow in his direction. “You told me last time.”

“Yeah but she wanted me to say it again. And also that she wants to invite you over for dinner.”

Oh. Alarm bells go off in Tony’s head, because there is some part of him that does in fact realize this is not normal. 

There’s a possibility that May is just being polite; inviting him over to thank him for replacing their old beater of a car with something new. Nothing flashy - Tony had wanted May to feel comfortable driving it, wanted her to feel comfortable letting Peter drive it too. Just something reliable and safe for the both of them.

But there’s also a very strong chance that she wants to ask him why her teenaged nephew is suddenly sporting a whole new wardrobe. 

Tony can make something up, easy enough. For one, Peter spends his free time helping senior citizens carry their groceries back to their apartments and chasing down attempted purse snatchers. He’s a good kid. He deserves nice things. It’s not like May is going to argue with that.

(She can, and will. Not the part about Peter being a good kid - but that she’s still not a hundred-percent on board with him being a superhero. 

They’re working on it.)

The other reason is a little more of a reach. Stark Industries as a whole has a bunch of internships at any given time - trying to catch the best and the brightest early on, before Oscorp (or god forbid, Hammer) can get their claws in them. But Peter’s specific ‘internship’ is a one of a kind deal, for obvious reasons. 

He’s in the public eye, even if only peripherally - photographed standing next to Tony at conferences, sometimes just walking down the street together, talking about the practical applications of Tony’s nanotech.

Tony has an image to uphold, and Peter has become a de facto representative of his brand. He should look good doing it.

What May doesn’t need to know is the thrill that travels up his spine each time he sees Peter wearing clothes Tony picked out for him. It’s never really been a thing he cared about before - countless partners had looked fabulous in all manner of clothing (or complete lack thereof), he’s never particularly cared about it as a mark of ownership or anything like that. 

He’s also aware that thinking about Peter in terms of partnership and ownership is dangerous territory. Especially when he’s trying to look the boy’s Aunt in the eye over dinner.

“Seems like Peter’s internship is going well,” she says, prodding.

Peter himself currently has a mouthful of green beans and so can’t jump in, but he’s nodding emphatically. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony can see the kid’s leg bouncing so fast it’s almost a blur.

“He’s doing great,” Tony says. “We have that conference coming up next month, in - where was it again?”

Peter swallows, gulps down some water before he speaks. “Philadelphia.”

“Right, in Philly. We’ll have a new medical adhesive patent to present. It’ll just be a day trip, there and back,” he assures her.

The rest of the dinner limps onwards, the conversation flowing in fits and starts. 

Peter’s voice is almost an octave higher thanks to his obvious nerves. May is clearly fishing around for something, her eyes tracking back and forth between Tony and Peter like she’s making a mental note of every interaction. Tony, for his part, eats the food without tasting any of it (which might be a blessing, if he’s honest) and tries his best to look like a responsible adult; waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She thanks Tony again for the car. Tony waves it off as best he can, tells her if there’s anything they need, to just ask. They both know that she won’t.

He takes Peter to Philadelphia on the jet. Peter waits until they’re airborn to take a selfie, the view out the window just behind him in the pic.

Tony nudges the phone out of the way, reaching up to fix Peter’s hair. The weather in New York that morning had been damp, it was making Peter’s hair curl up and tangle. There’s only so much Tony can do with his hands, as opposed to an actual comb and product. 

He ignores the voice in the back of his head, reminding him that both of those things are readily available in the plane’s bathroom.

“Mr. Stark, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s just that it’s a little awkward to ask Aunt May, and plus it’s kind of ‘internship’ related anyway, really - ”

“We’re landing in like twenty minutes, you planning on getting to the point any time soon?”

“Underwear,” Peter blurts out. 

Tony isn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t - that.

“Sorry, what?”

“Um,” Peter wipes his palms on his jeans. “Boxer briefs, specifically? It’s just that I know if I ask May she’s gonna buy me the same stuff she’s been buying since I was a kid, not that that’s bad or anything, but you’ve been so awesome about the clothes and stuff that I - ”

“Slow down there, Fievel. You’re asking me to buy you underwear?”

“Kind of. Yes?”

Tony takes a breath. This kid is definitely going to kill him. 

“How about this - I’ll set you up with a small spending account, that way you can buy,” he waves his hand around vaguely, “whatever, without having to - hold on, in what way is this internship related?”

“Regular boxers bunch up on me under the suit.”

“Ah.”

“I’ve tried just, you know, not wearing them, but that felt too weird.”

Tony cannot fully express how much he didn’t need to know that, but he doesn’t get the chance, because Peter isn’t done talking.

“Anyway, the spending account isn’t really what I meant. I have money Mr. Stark, I can go to Target and buy a pack of them whenever. But, like with the clothes, you know what looks good.”

Tony swallows, replies a beat too late for it to sound completely natural. 

“So you’ve got someone you’re trying to impress, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that, I guess.”

He puts in a word to FRIDAY, who contacts Tony’s stylist, who puts together an assortment of options to choose from based on some extremely (and somewhat intentionally) vague guidelines. Which is how Tony ends up coming home that evening to find his kitchen table turned into an underwear display full of options in Peter’s size.

He flicks the less appealing ones off to one side, plus anything that looks like it might ride up or be uncomfortable to wear under the suit. 

Maroon always looks good on Peter. There’s a deep forest green pair, another in periwinkle, another pair in coral which he imagines will look good against Peter’s complexion. A few pairs of standard solid white or solid black ones go in the ‘yes’ pile as well. 

He thinks Peter’s probably only ever worn underwear that was cotton or synthetic fibers. Tony isn’t sure how he’ll feel about silk or satin, so he throws a few of those into the mix as well. 

He doesn’t think about whoever this mystery person is, who will get see Peter wearing these. When he does, he’s tempted say screw it and just give the kid a pack of bog-standard Calvin Kleins. But Peter deserves to feel good, and to look good, he figures. It’s not about anyone else, really.

He packs up the underwear and has them delivered.

The next day Peter shows up a little later than usual. Tony waves off his apologies, as well as his awkwardly expressed gratitude for the most recent present.

“Did they fit okay?” he asks, regretting the question instantly.

“Yeah! I mean, I think so.”

At that, Peter is lifting his shirt, a sliver of dark green fabric peeking out from under the waistband of his jeans.

“You don’t need to show me, I believe you,” Tony tries to interject.

“Well, yeah but I wanted your opinion. If they look good or not.”

“I’m sure they look fine. Why don’t you go show them off to whoever it is you wanted to impress?”

Peter meets his eyes dead on. “I am.”

The other shoe drops. Tony has always been brilliant. He tends to see connections in things other people dismiss as unrelated. But on occasion he is, admittedly, a moron.

“Oh,” he says, eloquently.

He can’t say no. For one thing, because Peter would clearly be devastated. More importantly though, he doesn’t particularly want to say no. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought far too much about how Peter would look in each pair Tony had picked out. How warm Peter’s skin would feel through the thin material.

“Show me.”

Peter bites his lip, still nervous, but he reaches down to unzip his fly without hesitation. 

Tony makes a mental note to give his stylist a nice big Christmas bonus this year, because the briefs fit Peter like a glove.

“How’d they feel under the suit?”

“Good. Really good.”

Tony reaches up, settles his hands on Peter’s hip, thumbs tracing over the material on either side of Peter’s groin.

“Well, they look good too. If you were worried about that, don’t be. They look great.” 

Peter’s breathing is deliberately slow, and he’s not looking Tony in the eyes any more. His gaze is focused off somewhere behind Tony’s head. There’s a small wet spot forming on the front of his underwear, along with a definitive change in the way they’re fitting around his body; stretching to accommodate his growing length.

Tony lets his thumbs dip a little closer to the outline of Peter’s cock, watches him twitch as he strokes his finger over the base of it. 

He stands up, shifts one hand to trail down Peter’s backside. He hasn’t even had a chance to see how they fit from the back yet. Plenty of time for that later - for right now, he cups Peter with his other hand, relishing the feeling of heat radiating through the soft fabric, and the slight dampness of precum against his palm. Peter lets out a small whine.

“You’re gonna ruin those if we keep going,” Tony says, head tipped down near Peter’s ear.

“If I - ah, if I mess them up, will you buy me another pair?”

“I’ll buy you a hundred, kid.”


End file.
